A Diamond in the Gutter
by s8219
Summary: She never sought from anyone what she took remorselessly from him


A Diamond in the Gutter Christine, and she stayed with him.. This falls in steps with Lowell Bair's translation of POTO, it might be slightly confusing to those who haven't read it. PG-13  
  
A Diamond in the Gutter  
  
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"Play for me."  
  
A flicker of a smile taints his lips behind the mask as he bows to her whims. Rising to stand beside her, towering over her like some great beast from a children's fairy-tale novel. The candles soft golden hue within the darkened abode shys away from his threatening form and a great shadow swallows her feminine frame. She is half his size and nowhere near his strength, but he would do anything for her.  
  
Christine smiles thoughtfully as she watches closely, paying attention to the trifling details around her. She long ago abandoned time and fell into his rhythm of sight and sound, no longer noticing when she tripped and fell and became riddled with demons she could no longer control.  
  
Or keep quiet.  
  
Like a lynx, born with the natural grace of a predator, he stares. Eyes fixed and ready as though watching his prey, his lover, with stubborn patience.  
  
Waiting like a hungry tiger to follow, unseen in the brush, while she carries on the days activities as though nothing were amiss. Waiting for Christine to take alarm and bolt from her peaceful setting so he might pounce at once, tear out her throat and feast.  
  
He is nothing less then exquisite. This man that bows down to no man. This demon who fears nothing. Nothing... but for her... for her he is a tamed beast who begs not to take the lead, but to follow.  
  
###  
  
The silence had long ago began to pound in her ears. The weight of the quiet room pushed her down and pulled her away until she felt like she were floating.  
  
It was getting colder, was it not? Yes, there was surely a storm brewing.  
  
// She didn't touch the grasshopper //  
  
His child of the sun, of light and purity. Foolishly called naive for her well-placed mistrust in this Angel and man.  
  
She's just too innocent. Too innocent and unaware of the dangers posed by herself and her surroundings. For a moment he forgot what he saw in her. This terrified girl who cringed from darkness, flinched and tensed until her muscles ached and then cried. Cried a river of tears, pounded her head against the wall until coated in a river of red.  
  
But as he watched her slight movements, the magnificent quiver of her lips, the shaking in her fingers, it seemed to him that she was all that ever was. All he could ever hope to obtain.  
  
The shadows flocked to adore her. Framed her in their sleek splendor until she looked a portrait of golden poetry.  
  
// She didn't touch the grasshopper //  
  
"The grasshopper! Be careful of the grasshopper! Grasshoppers jump and they jump very high!"  
  
###  
  
She stares back, neck craned with weary eyes deep in concentration to peer into the thick wells behind the mask.  
  
She knows what he's thinking. She knows everything about him, really. He was the most inciting sheet of music ever composed, a score that could only have been learned through the process of long, tedious practice.  
  
In his silence, in his step, in the very curve of his wrist she can read him.  
  
He, himself, is nothing more then a house with many trapdoors and she knows many of the secret routes by heart, and can travel them blindly. Her eyes beat through him, staring past the mask and through the skin until she's breathing inside of his head, looking around with childish curiosity afraid to touch the heirlooms for fear of breaking something of immense importance.  
  
And sooner or later she finds his soul, and twirls it around her fingers like a lock of hair as it pleads desperately for her to fall in love with him. To become a part of him.  
  
In spite of his often unscrupulous actions, he cannot hide the blinding truth. She is his treasured prize, and he will willingly break himself day after day just to be with her. Subconsciously blocking out the fact that she's withering to a dry tinder in his glorious kingdom. Their courtship forces them both to their knees. It's murder without a weapon, but they learned long ago that love ruins everything.  
  
###  
  
// You're crying! //  
  
Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, but not a sound came from her parted lips. She folded her arms around her waist in a childish effort to feel safe. Protected. Reduced to a bundled mess spewing prayers inside her mind without the courage to confess her considerable sins.  
  
// Love me and you'll see! To be good, all I ever needed was to be loved. //  
  
Loving him was easy. Was he not the brightest star reigning in all the heavens? Even the sun would be foolish to not bow to his whims. Loving him is easy, she reflects, because he's beautiful. Because he's on the edge of all that is and all that ever could be. And she envies his strength, his voice, his movements, every part of him.  
  
Except...  
  
Except for...  
  
// If you loved me, I'd be gentle as a lamb and you could do whatever you pleased with me. //  
  
It rained, // I shouldn't have gone out, it's raining cats and dogs. // No.. It couldn't rain miles beneath the earths surface.  
  
Could it?  
  
Perhaps, perhaps in Erik's domain it could. Anything was possible where he was concerned. It spun her head with a million swirling colors, and made her sick. Had it always been this dark?  
  
It rained, // You know, Christine, I think I have hallucinations. // Perhaps the heavens would wash this room clean of sin with their purifying storm. And she would open her mouth and devour the holy water and dance as the rain poured down on her face, washing away the pain and lies.  
  
###  
  
He sits at the organ bench with a sigh but she remains standing without a thought of moving nearer. He knows she will not sing, he has deep understanding of nature and although her cage is adorned in the finest silks and richest gold's, it is still a cage.  
  
She is no longer an Angel, but a tarnished treasure. Her eyes still shine, and her scent is still soft. But she is no longer the trusting, modest creature of before. She's not gentle in her known habitat, but neither is she a ferocious beast ready to attack at will.  
  
No, she will not sing for him now, and he has offered all he has to give. How do you ask for the worlds greatest prize without a bargaining chip?  
  
His fingers hesitate an inch from the marble keys, unseen electricity searing the tips of his nails to know he will soon play. Power that pulses in his veins the instant before connection. His fingertips scamper like slender spiders, skimming the marble notes before caressing their way into song.  
  
Slave to your passions, she muses silently before closing her eyes on his roving fingers scorching the keys with loving hands.  
  
It saddens her, for she knows there must be a melody to match a harmony, but she can't seem to find her voice. Not her true voice in any case. The noise that comes from her throat now is an orchestra from a lullaby long forgotten, it is no longer her own vocals in a way. She feels lost in a haze she can't see through and the thought displeases her.  
  
So she is silent.  
  
###  
  
// Not a word, Daroga, or I'll blow everything up //  
  
Christines sharp intake of breath was shattering to his senses. Her confused and accusing gaze only served to antagonize him further. She felt ill suddenly. Quite ill, and she held herself tighter to keep her insides from falling out.  
  
The pieces fell into place and as the puzzle clicked she thought of it's tragic beauty.  
  
// I'll blow everything up //  
  
It was a terrible shame.  
  
// The honor goes to Mademoiselle Daae. //  
  
###  
  
And it's his fault. His negligence. For he of all the men knows that innocence must to be fed or it will wither with passive indifference.  
  
But Erik says nothing, assuming her silence is formed of grief.  
  
And she never corrects him for his mistakes.  
  
The strong muscles of his back tense with barely retrained passion, his lean shoulder blades draw in as he shifts madly. He can't give her back her innocence, and so revels in the sin he commits by simply allowing her once chaste mind to fully comprehend the meaning of his music. Decorated by the warmth of the candles, he doesn't stop. His fingers gliding easily with long familiarity over the organs flawless white.  
  
She should fight, she knows. Open her eyes and learn to break his musician spell. But like waking up after four hours of sleep, she frustratidly gives up. She knows she could break away from this alluring charm, and she knows that the next time she will. Ten more minutes, just ten more minutes and then I'll awaken. Face the real world once more.  
  
His reward is a delicate moan escaping her parted lips, the sound of wind blowing and chimes ringing together from a false breeze in this crypt miles away from human sounds. Her slender body sways in unconscious step to his passion made sound. Overtaken by the sensations of teetering on the edge of a cliff, knowing that even if it falls, there will be another to catch her.  
  
Everything can perfect here, if only the song would never end. She knows they could exist in his shadowy web, content, as the sunlight shys away, dignified yet terrified of his talents and what they dictated him to do.  
  
He erases a piece of himself and pleases her by sinking deeper into the web of music. Spinning his own brand of silk threads around them until he is quite sure the setting is truly complete.  
  
Demanding perfection.  
  
He understands there is no distinction between the things that haunt and those that cause romance, and so he spares her nothing. The truth is sinister, but painted in harmony, it becomes bearable...  
  
###  
  
"What's this? The wall is hot! It's burning hot!"  
  
// Why are you crying? You know you're hurting me. //  
  
"Erik, I've turned the scorpion."  
  
The shadows fled from her, gave her room to breath as her fingers trembled inches above the great golden beast turned on it's pivot.  
  
She didn't take the air offered, and all was silent. Waiting... Slow motion with wide eyes and dropped jaw. Waiting and waiting for a sign. For a crash, for a movement, for anything but that unbearable silence. Anything other then the unknown.  
  
// Will you swear to me, you monster, will you swear by your infernal love that the scorpion is the one to turn? //  
  
The shadows fled, and Erik seemed illuminated in his ungodly grace as his hand moved and fingers stretched out towards her.  
  
// I've turned the scorpion. //  
  
The movement appeared sudden to her fear-ridden senses and she recoiled instantly.  
  
Erik paid no heed, watching her as she stared fixedly at nothing and shivered in the darkened room.  
  
The sensations poured in through her over stimulated nerves.  
  
Drowning.  
  
And for a moment all that was real was the sound of blood pumping away inside her veins.  
  
// The Eleven O'clock that will decide life or death //  
  
###  
  
... and awe inspiring, this descent into hell. It causes her neck to arch and senses strain. She is exquisite in her ecstasy, flawless as a prima ballerina even as a thousand beating wings pound mercilessly inside her bloodstream. Caterpillars breaking free their confining wombs and pounding for release inside the walls of her veins. She wants to scream, she wants to cry as she hurls herself over the cliff into misery and rejoices to no longer be stumbling for that white road towards heaven.  
  
She is happy and free in the confines of control and restriction.  
  
She is a slave to her addictions.  
  
But sometimes he is her victim. Like when she enters his separate room late at night while he assumes her fast asleep, and slips underneath the covers. The candles flickering light dies as she clings to him, her slender body caressing the length of his own in the coffin. His room of absolute wonders. She said once, in her frightened voice sounding no more then a child of seven, that it was the only place she felt safe in this house. She found it's brutal honesty refreshing in her own way.  
  
He found it impossible to push her away as her arms wrapped tight around him on those nights  
  
Though not always the aggressor, he no longer calls her child.  
  
He no longer loves her like he used to.  
  
Language forgotten, expect to say that she never sought from anyone what she took remorselessly from him. She drank the wine of his soul like water, swallowing with desert thirst.  
  
The candles golden glow flickers in the tension between the duo yards away from one another, the light stretching out to cradle her small frame and his imposing form. Locked in his universe, their universe, and transformed beyond repair in the bond they share.  
  
End. 


End file.
